


Magic Wielding Foes of Camelot Really Just Want Arthur and Merlin to Get Naked

by clouder (selfinduced), selfinduced



Category: Merlin (BBC), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Dubious Consent, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-04
Updated: 2009-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 18:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfinduced/pseuds/clouder, https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfinduced/pseuds/selfinduced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always in the wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Wielding Foes of Camelot Really Just Want Arthur and Merlin to Get Naked

For Arthur, as in all things to do with Merlin where reason and logic are laughable concepts, it starts in the middle.

"Arthur," a voice rasps behind him as he starts to rock blindly on the cock inside him, barely awake enough to register anything but overwhelming need, gratified by the hardening and answering movements. "Gods, Arthur," arms encircle his waist and lips mouth distractedly off center at the back of his neck, making him moan and rut against sticky sheets, "I don't even know if I—oh," they groan simultaneously as the buildup for orgasm starts quicker than should be possible and all they can do is pump helplessly, breaths gasping and harsh, hips speeding up and out of control until they come.

Which seems to allow enough coherent thought that he can feel that this was too many times in too short a time for it not to hurt and be painfully sensitive.

The man collapsing next to him pulls out slow and carefully tender, chuckling hoarsely, "I guess that answers that."

Arthur—that must be his name. This man was still inside him when he woke, has a palm on his hip, warm and proprietary—has to be his lover, and has been calling him Arthur. But Arthur can't remember the man's name. Or, well, anything else, really. He takes in his surroundings unobtrusively as their breaths quiet down—judging by the chamber, he's high nobility, even royalty?—and turns around to face this stranger he apparently trusts so much.

The first thing Arthur notices are his eyes—they can't be normal. Gold swirling and fading into ordinary (radiant, probably just from the sun) blue. Eyes should not swirl; even in his disoriented state, Arthur feels sure about this. The rest of his face seems to be in order, however. Dark curls sticking out every which way, sharp, flushed cheekbones, and bruised lips that make Arthur swallow with the need to taste, slanting up in a half smile. Arthur takes a moment to congratulate himself for his impeccable taste, and smiles back.

"Hey," the man—boy, really, Arthur thinks, stroking a hand down a wiry arm—says, soft and quiet, and, gods help him, _shy_.

It's so incongruous Arthur can't help but laugh, raising an eyebrow at their naked, sweaty, and rather filthy state.

"Yeah, we should probably get cleaned up," the boy looks up from beneath dark lashes glittering in the sunlight, making Arthur's breath catch, "Should I draw us a bath?"

"Why? I should think I've got servants to do that," Arthur says, intent on kissing those lashes, only to be evaded. "Did I do something wrong?" Arthur drags his eyes from that red, red mouth.

"What—who do you think I am?" the boy swallows, eyes going bright and pained, and something in Arthur's chest lurches.

"My—" _love_—well, no, he doesn't have to be, does he, to have done what they just did—Arthur just assumed, and it felt right, felt like more—still does, but, "I should think that's obvious," he waves a hand at both of them, finding that composing his face to blankness and slight mockery comes easy.

But the boy has scrambled off the bed, attempting to get dressed in clothes that look as if they were ripped off, laces missing, and is speaking hurriedly, distractedly, "Of course—I should've—gods—" and whirls around to address Arthur, "Do you know who you are?"

"—is it that important?"

"No, of course you don't. It was in the wine. It had to be the wine, we didn't eat or drink anything else—" and he gives a choked, bitter sound, rubbing his palm over his face, shoulders hunched in, before straightening back up. "Stay here, please. I'll call someone to draw you a bath, get cleaned up, and I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't go anywhere else and try not to talk to anyone other than servants and only as much as you have to." He runs off before Arthur can question his right to give any orders, muttering something about a Gaius.

-

It _was_ in the wine, which Arthur doesn't remember letting Merlin have any of, but apparently they were both affected because—well.

Arthur doesn't ask, however. Just thanks Gaius for the antidote and gives a short nod to his instructions, wondering how long it will be until Merlin will dare to venture back up to Arthur's chambers himself.

-

(He brought Arthur's breakfast this morning, and it was Arthur who hadn't been able to turn around and actually face him.)

"The effects of the potion are straightforward, sire," Gaius had informed him, "They controlled physical urges and reactions, and have already faded significantly. This antidote will clear the rest of the symptoms, though I recommend a day of rest to let your body recuperate."

He remembers most things as they come up—people's names, his duties, but it's all interspersed with flashes of Merlin—Merlin's face crumpling that morning as he got dressed, before settling to something less openly broken.

The day ends and with it, his duties, and the newly made bed taunts him with the memory of Merlin's smile, open and sweet in the morning light, lips begging for a kiss Arthur never actually got to—well. Not quite.

They had certainly done that and more—judging by the snatches of recollection that are now weaving themselves into coherence—the warmth and sweetness of the old woman's wine, Merlin's shoulder under his arms, as he swayed on his feet; the intense, uncontrollable need that took over as soon as their mouths touched, kiss turning deep and wet and rough, that made him shove Merlin against the nearest tree and drop to his knees, getting himself off in time to the hitches in Merlin's breath, moaning of "_Arthur,_" and "please," and "_yes_" as if it couldn't be anything else.

It only quenched the urges long enough for Arthur to sound logical when insisting they ride the same horse so Arthur could slide a hand under Merlin's shirt, keep his hand on Merlin's skin the whole way back home.

There's a complete lack of memory of making their way to his chambers, only the way Merlin had looked, fallen back on Arthur's bed as Arthur climbed over him, hands and mouth frenzied and feverish, mindlessly tearing at their clothes, repeating "Merlin," between kisses to the soft skin under his throat, navel, the crease of his thighs, the smell of him intoxicating, "Merlin_merlinmerlin_" in gasps and murmurs and choked cries, rubbing off against Merlin's cock slicked from Arthur's mouth and using their seed to open himself, riding a shocked Merlin who came far too quickly but pulled him up so he was on his knees, bent to let Merlin's fingers in his arse, slipping in and out obscene and deliberate as Merlin sucked him back to full hardness, kept on sucking him and fingering him and looking up at Arthur with hot dark eyes with only a ring of blue left around the pupils all the while. ("Gods, look at you, I can't stop touching you," Merlin seemed to pause at this, as if attempting to _think_, and it made his fingers pause so Arthur rocked back on them, arching his back and baring his throat, knowing Merlin's mouth would follow, reveling in it.)

He doesn't remember exact phrases, but it's entirely possible he was loud enough for all of Camelot to hear their crown prince beg that Merlin fuck him, fuck him _now_, that he _needed_ it, needed _Merlin_, Merlin was _his_, and because Merlin was brilliant, secretly some sort of genius at sex, he'd maneuvered Arthur so Arthur was on his back, Merlin's cock sliding into his mouth, Arthur moaning around it as Merlin's mouth sucked on his own, Merlin's fingers in his arse, Merlin _everywhere_ and every which way and it was too gloriously perfect for it to last very long, except Merlin would let up every so often, squeeze gently at his balls or the base of his cock, leaving Arthur strung at the edge and not quite over and too far gone to question anything, every orgasm buying only enough moments of coherence to facilitate the next one.

They'd continued for an improbable number of times, (jerking himself off with a hand reached to slip fingers in and out of Merlin's mouth as Merlin gripped his hips tight with surprising strength, moving him up and down on his cock, biting at his shoulder-blade harshly as Arthur came, spasming around him, and stroking the small of his back and holding him close while Arthur turned to nuzzled into his neck). They'd fallen asleep like that, Merlin still inside him, crooning into his hair, hands tangled together against Arthur's chest.

-

Merlin arrives to help him turn in, avoids his eyes, careful not to touch, but the proximity is enough to make Arthur go hot and cold all over with embarrassment and helpless arousal.

"Do you," Arthur clears his throat, looking straight ahead, "Are there any other side effects expected to linger after the antidote?" That crazed, mindless insistence is gone, he tells himself, but it doesn't make him want to slam Merlin into the nearest wall and kiss him breathless and hard and needy any less.

Merlin won't meet his eyes, instead murmurs quietly, "It's possible, sire. Would you like me to ask Gaius, or,"

Arthur clasps his shoulders, leans in, intending to kiss but going still before their lips touch, close enough to share breath, tentative, desperate, "Merlin."

"Yes, my lord?" Merlin's eyes squeezed closed and he's not quite cringing but it's a close thing.

He pulls back as if burned. "Is it so hard to say my name, then? You didn't seem to have any problems with it last night." Or this morning.

Merlin glances up at him, stricken and miserable. "It was a spell sire, I—I would never. You have to know that I wouldn't—"

Arthur curls his hands into fists and lifts his chin and nods slightly. He's not going to show more susceptibility to this witchery than his hapless (distressingly unaffected) manservant.

"No, of course not." Arthur stalks towards his weapons rack, back to Merlin, "You may leave." He draws a long dagger and a broadsword, falling into a basic defense stance without turning to see Merlin obey.

If Arthur is the only one who feels this aftereffect of his insides twisting miserably at not being able to touch, Arthur will be the only one who knows of it.

-

Arthur learns renewed hate of sorcery for the way it seems to be controlling his very thoughts.

Gaius is searching for a cure, of course, as discreet as ever, but true love spells that linger beyond or are compounded with a lust elixir is apparently practically myth, and it is slow going.

So Arthur nods patiently and avoids touching Merlin (or thinking of him, or seeing him) more than necessary:

He meets with his father to discuss grain storage, and fingers the fading mark on the inside of his left arm, wondering if Merlin remembers putting it there as vividly as Arthur.

Surveying crops while on patrol, he makes note as usual of the health of the people in order to make his recommendations on tithing to his father, but unlike before, sees Ealdor in every man, woman, and child, finding himself wondering if Merlin would think it was enough, if there was more to be done.

He trains with his knights, and finds himself smiling at the grass at his feet as they regroup, remembering Merlin's idiotic flailing whenever he has a sword in his hands.

"Arthur."

He turns to find Merlin, who has appeared nearby with water, smile fading as their eyes catch, and looks away, taking his drink carefully so their fingers don't brush, and swallows sloppy and quick, not minding the spilling as cool drops slide down his sweaty skin.

He hands the flagon back with a nod of thanks and realizes Merlin is staring, tracking the progress of water down Arthur's chest, and it makes his mouth dry all over again.

_Spell_, he reminds himself. Still, it's something to know it's not just him.

-

"I believe I have it, sire." Gaius tells him, brandishing a vial in his direction.

Arthur drinks it as directed and waits to stop wanting to find Merlin just to be near him, to hear his voice, to take whatever accidental touches and smiles or sniping he can incite. To (and he was only stupid enough to try this once, or twice, really) allow himself to be injured so Merlin can fret over him, long fingers soothing and warm with salve to massage into his skin.

Merlin arrives in the late evening as usual to undress him for bed and Arthur is still waiting to stop noticing the full curve of his mouth and wanting it so badly his breath catches in his throat.

-

"Merlin,"

"Yes, sire?" Merlin turns, surprised into using his title.

"I know you can—that you—I don't want to speak of it either, but, can you sense any magic, any bewitching, left in me?"

Merlin drops the plate he was stacking on the table, going completely, utterly still.

"Well?"

He comes to Arthur, leaning over the chair to put a hand on his forehead, and it makes Arthur overwarm and shivery but he successfully doesn't lean into the touch.

"No," Merlin says, "I sense no enchantments."

"Ah," is all Arthur can get out, with Merlin's legs practically between his knees and attentive eyes burning into his skin, and finds a warm hand cupping his cheek, directing his gaze upward. "Merlin," he says, mouth dry and voice thick.

Merlin kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> for kinkme_merlin prompts:  
> Arthur/Merlin, aware of being under a love spell, but helpless to its effects. (Like, say, for instance, Arthur manages to offend a sorceress, who in turn wants to teach him some humility and puts a spell on him to make him fall in love with Merlin (before running off cackling into the woods), and Arthur knows it's a spell, but it doesn't make it any easier for him not to want Merlin, or to resist any other of the spell's effects.  
> Arthur/Merlin, he wakes up naked, sticky, and with a cock still inside of him. Bonus points for temporary amnesia!


End file.
